


Wonder how that color taste

by xephyr



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alien Sex, Desperation, Group Sex, Mindfuck, Other, Shameless Smut, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Xeno, literally don't know what else to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 09:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xephyr/pseuds/xephyr
Summary: Newt is so tired. In fact, he hardly feels like he's in his right mind anymore. Hell, there's a good chance he's not.





	Wonder how that color taste

How many days of work can you go through in a row before it’s technically considered inhumane? Whatever it is, Newt is positive that he’s passed through that threshold many times over. It’s not even a question at this point. Back at the PPDC, at least, he had been able to balance his workload with Hermann. At Shao, it was all him. Sure, he had his staff that had been generously given to him by Liwen, but he was still the one doing all the legwork and downing upwards of five cups of coffee a day just to keep on his feet. It would all pay off in the end, he had to keep telling himself. He knew it would.  
  


After an 17-hour workday his body (weak, mortal) was practically screaming at him to sleep the second he walked in the door of his apartment. He tossed his bag on the counter and took off his coat, letting it hang on the back of a chair. The old Newt would have just tossed it wherever he felt like and not worried about wrinkles, but he, the _better_ Newt, couldn’t afford to do that anymore. If Liwen saw him with so much as a hair out of place, he would feel her glare on the back of his head for the entire day. Tomorrow was already looking to be a long day and Liwen was going to drill him on numbers and lecture him on the importance of _time_ and _efficiency_ first thing in the morning, so logically, the smartest thing to do would be to go to bed immediately.

   
That’s not what he did, though.  
  


Shao this, Shao that. None of that shit mattered when he stumbled into his room and saw Alice in all her brilliance and glory floating in her tank. The bubbles that swirled around her made her look almost ethereal, and in a sense, she was.

   
“Come on, babe. Let’s skip the foreplay tonight, alright?” He flashed her a wide and easy smile as he took his usual place on his leather chair, already fitting his head with the PONS that he kept on the side table. “Just let me be selfish for one night. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time.”  


Alice said nothing as he made the final adjustments on the headpiece. For extra measure, he undid the knot in his tie and unbuttoned the topmost button of his extravagant dress shirt, making himself more comfortable. It wouldn’t really matter when he went into the Drift, but it would save him from having to do it after he got out. It was a part of that whole efficiency thing that Liwen always tried to push on him. He could be a good boy, sometimes. Just watch him.

   
He didn’t waste any time as he activated the PONS, feeling his mind speeding past useless memories and images of Hermann and _blue_ and watching the nervous system of a Kaiju light up in every corner of his mind at light speed. The first few times he’d done this, he had been overwhelmed. It’s really so much sometimes, but in the thousands of times he’s done this, he’s become somewhat of an expert in tuning everything out. Distantly he could feel his body reacting to the stimulus, jerking and trembling in his apartment, but he wasn’t in his body anymore. Thank God.

   
Everything came to a standstill all at once as he felt his mind mentally hit the breaks at the first sight of opal eyes penetrating through him. His Drift-self stumbled before falling headfirst on the surprisingly hard ground.

   
He never knew exactly where he was when he did this. He knew he was Home, (Their home, of course. Not his, never his) but he never knew where exactly They entertained him. The sky around him shifted and thundered, turning thousands of different colors at the speed of light. There was of course the very real chance that they never actually directly interacted with him and this was entirely his own imagination. It would be for the best, probably. What use did They have with him? What could he offer Them, truly? He would (and has) offer them everything he has, but that doesn’t amount to much here.

   
It was hard to tell how many of Them were there at first glance. There were six sets of eyes and eight pairs of arms between Them all, and it was impossible to tell which belonged to which. With great difficulty, he brought himself up onto his feet, shaky as he was. It was impossible not to shake when he did this. He couldn’t lie on his back, though, because They were all at least twelve feet tall and he’d never be able to serve Them on his knees. Fuck, he wishes he could. He’d be so good on his knees because he had _always_ been so good on his knees. He was hardly that sizable among other humans (useless, pathetic) and when he was here he was hardly more than a speck of dust.  


“Please,” He begs, not caring what he sounds like here. He’s only been here for a second but it’s already been too long without this and he can’t pretend he doesn’t need this like he needs air. He feels rather than sees Alice in the back of his mind and he’s eternally grateful for her presence. She’s watching everything because she _brought_ him here and he can feel her calming aura over his tattered nerves and he feels like he can do anything with Alice behind him. “Please,” He tries again, because he’s being ignored, “Let me show you what I can do.”

   
They don’t answer him (They never do) but They don’t push him away either. He can feel himself being crowded on all sides as They move in closer and he can feel grateful tears already begin to burn at his eyes. It should scare him how much he wants this, but he’s sort of past that point by now. I mean, what would he even do if he realized that it _was_ fucked up? He’s in way too deep now, and there’s not exactly an escape button ready for him at any point during any of this. Hermann could have been his escape route originally, he thought, but They made sure that never happened. He could think back to the millions of times he’d tried to reach out to Hermann that They (and he) had ultimately stopped fast in its tracks.

   
He wasn’t made for that life, anyway. This, he thought, as he watched a hand as big as his torso slide towards him at a glacial pace, is what he was made for. They grip just under his chin with a talon resting on his racing pulse point and it feels like _heaven_ (or like the Anteverse) and nothing has even happened to him yet. His breath comes to him more and more sporadically as They grip him tighter and impossibly tighter and he knows that if he were in his true body right now, They would have seared through the weak dermis of his too vulnerable throat and crushed every major artery in Their reach. It’s funny when you realize that so-called “major” arteries really aren’t so strong at all.

   
There’s hardness pressing against his back and up against his ribs and in between his shoulder blades and he feels the tears sliding freely down his face, the dam of his self-control finally crushed to pieces. Opal eyes, unfeeling, glorious, _uncaring_ , bore their way down into his and he feels so small, the way he’s always felt when he’s here. There’s no other way _to_ feel and he accepts it because it’s not like he’s ever had a choice and he’s never asked for one anyway (because he’s asked for _this_ so many times) and he can hardly see through the haze of his tears because he _wants_ this so badly.

   
The Bishop in all its glory allows him to grip around the protrusion offered to him and he can’t even wrap both of his hands around the translucent and glowing appendage. It’s not a dick, he knows, it’s not anything like he’s used to, but that’s always been the point. It doesn’t matter _what_ it is, only that he’s being given it. From the tight hold They have him in, it’s a struggle to move in and press his mouth to it, but he manages well enough. There are tentacles around the base of it and they press against his cheeks and through his hair and he outright _sobs_ at the sensation of it all. A few of them have moved in even closer and he can feel the soft skin of his back being burned through his dress shirt from whatever substance is being secreted from the Precursor behind him and he shudders, fully and bodily.

   
“Please,” He begs once again, and he knows he sounds completely wrecked and it’s because he is and he always will be, “Please, please, I need--”

   
His airways are closed off completely and for a wild second he thinks he’s going to die in real life. If he dies without getting this, he’ll fucking come back to life just to spite it all and haunt everyone who’s ever tried to deny him anything, ever. The pressure lets up right as he realizes that he _can’t_ die here because They _need_ him and he feels more fluid seeping over him up against his ribs and against the back of his neck. The one at his ribs hurts like hell because it’s filled with acid, bubbling and green against his tattooed skin, and the one at his neck feels like cool water from a shower jet after a long day. He can feel the secretions burning into his lungs and he can distinctly see (and hear, somehow) it mixing in with his bloodstream, tinting his vision with green and making him sweat like he’s been stranded in a desert for fifteen consecutive hours. They give and give but he needs more because he’s always been selfish like this and he’s always wanted everything he could possibly get his hands on, even if it was never meant for him. _Especially_ if it was never meant for him.

   
He can see blue coursing through the veins of the Bishop before him, making its way through its body and traveling into the foot-long appendage he has in his hands and he whines in anticipation as it slowly drips out through the tip, sliding down the shaft until it lands on his cheek. It’s not _enough_ and he presses the flat of his tongue against it, using his hands to try and work their way along it in desperation. He’s begging again at this point, but he can’t even hear himself over the roar of blood in his ears.

   
More leaks through until it’s pouring out freely, and Newt does his best to lick up and swallow every drop he comes across and he’s sobbing as he feels Alice at the forefront of his mind, encouraging him and letting him know how much They appreciate his continued service and he’s bawling by the time he’s completely covered in neon blue. He knows he has a job to do on Earth but if he could and if They asked him, he’d drop everything just so he can do this every second of every day.

   
He feels the ones at his back retreating and before he can react, the Bishop is moving away from him as well. He tries to chase after them but he slumps onto his knees instead, shaking as he watches Them leave, knowing that They have been sated and They have no use for him now. Newt wipes at his face and brings the mixture of tears and _whatever_ to his mouth, swallowing it greedily.

   
All at once, he’s thrown back into reality and he cries out in shock. He was used to entering the Drift, but leaving it was a whole different story. Sometimes he left willingly but other times, like now, he was thrown out by force.

   
He removes the PONS with trembling hands and he tries to get his eyes to focus on Alice across the room from him and he smiles at her with a warmth in his heart and a fire in his veins. Without Alice, none of this would have happened. Without her… Fuck, what would he even be? He can’t find the energy to stand so he crawls over to her tank, giving the glass of her tank a big kiss before he slumps down next to her on his carpet.

   
“I love you so much, babe. I’d ask you to marry me, but neither of us really have time for a fancy wedding, right?” He can already feel himself drifting (ha) out of consciousness and into a deep sleep and he lets it wash over him. He should get onto the bed, but he can’t. He resigns himself to the floor for the night. “We can go to the courthouse, or something. Fuck, I don’t know. Just say you love me, too.”

   
If Alice says anything, he doesn’t hear it as he fully succumbs to a deep sleep that only the Precursors could ever grant him.

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY!


End file.
